OK, OK, OK — I know it’s just a little bit on the clichéd side for a Southerner to be writing about the cold weather during this latest cold snap. I know those of y’all reading from up North and out West are amused at us down South who are just outraged at low temperatures that would be a “warm-up” for y’all. But it’s cold down here — one morning this week the temperature in my yard was 9 degrees — and we’re just not equipped to deal with it. These are literally dangerous temps for us.

I’m sure some record lows were shattered this week in Alabama — they had to be. I’m sure that if I fact-check that statement, it’ll turn out to be false. But it’s cold down here.

Yes, yes, yes — I’ve been hearing from friends and family in other parts of the country about what “real cold” is, and they sound about as amused as we do down here when Northerners complain about a “heat wave” of 80 degrees in August. Down here, 80 degrees in August is a cold snap.

That phrase “cold snap” intrigues me, too. We’ve had enough cold weather this week to qualify possibly as a “cold spell.” A “snap” gives the idea that it’ll be over in just a little while, and this cold has stayed for a spell, like an unexpected and unwelcome houseguest. The weather in Alabama has always been famously variable, and this particular patch of cold is pushing the limits of good manners.

There is a certain excited novelty to cold weather in Alabama ... but only for a little while. Once we get over that — in a day or two — we want it gone. I have much respect for all my friends and family in colder regions of the country who deal with this sort of weather for weeks and months at a time every year. Their communities are much better able to deal with it because of that fact, but a certain mindset took hold in me not long after all this cold descended on us that was only alleviated by the sunny afternoons we’ve had.

This coldness is simply dreary. It’s tedious. It’s bleak. It’s wearisome. It’s depressing. And that’s my take after only a few days of it. I cannot imagine how I would react if it lasted longer.

It has its charms or it would be unbearable. It’s quiet, for example. There is nothing like the quietness of an oppressive coldness. On New Year’s Eve, I went to bed early like I always do — because I’m middle-aged. The new year would be there when I got up, so there was no use waiting up for it.

However, something awakened me about 11:40. Since I was up, I bundled up and stepped out on the porch. Usually, I can see lots of fireworks from my front porch and hear lots more up and down the valley. The bitter, biting cold must have kept people indoors — I saw nothing and heard only some muffled pops in the distance. That big, nearly-full moon was the only light show.

It was so quiet that I could lots of other things, though — owls hooting and the wind scratching dead, dry leaves across the driveway, those sorts of things. I sat out there for a while, long enough for my condensed breath to freeze on my beard, and it was the quietest ushering-in of a new year I’ve ever (not) heard.

Then there was the beautiful pattern of frost on my windshield one morning — I almost hated to defrost it. This cold snap brought few visual wonders with it, which might be why it seems so dreary. That frost web on the windshield — delicate and intricate, like finely-made lace — that was a real treat.

The birds in my yard, as usual, have been such a hoot. They’ve puffed up their feathers for warmth and (for once) aren’t fighting over the seed. The cold takes the fight right out of them. I’ve even spotted a couple of birds I don’t normally see — the slate juncos always make an appearance in cold weather — but mostly it’s the local birds complaining about the cold.

That’s the un-quiet part of cold weather — we Southerners just cannot stop talking about it, complaining about it. Those times this week that I’ve ventured out, I’ve talked to lots of new people, always about the weather.

Weather is one of those “safe” topics of conversation that strangers engage in, and unusual weather like this cold snap brings out the talkativeness in us. So many conversations this week have started with some variation on “Cold enough for you?” and proceeded into chatter, chatter, chattering about how cold it was on our backyard thermometers. If nothing else, this cold brings us all together.

David Murdock is an English instructor at Gadsden State Community College. He can be contacted at murdockcolumn@yahoo.com. The opinions reflected are his own.